


Weekend at the Lake House

by lizznotliz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18890026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizznotliz/pseuds/lizznotliz
Summary: The first Friday of every month, a car picks Peter up from school.





	Weekend at the Lake House

**Author's Note:**

> I know everybody's writing these. ;) This one's just mine.

The first Friday of every month, a car picks Peter up from school.

It's silver with navy accents so dark they look black until the light hits them just right. It's sleek and low and just shy of ostentatious, and it is always parked in the school lot’s far corner, as far from the front doors of the school as possible. No one notices that it arrives ten minutes before the last bell, and few notice Peter Parker sliding into the front seat with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

_Good afternoon, Mr. Parker._

"Hey, FRIDAY."

_Are you ready to go?_

“Yeah, sure, punch it.”

The trip takes a little over two hours but the car’s AI handles the drive without any input. Peter spends most of the time doing homework or texting Aunt May about his day at school. He likes watching the view outside slide from city to suburb to countryside, the way the sky opens up and the trees close in and everything outside the car seems to get quieter. Sometimes he just leans back in the seat and runs his fingers over the red chrome detailing on the car's interior.

Silver and navy and red.

He's pretty sure the car was supposed to be an 18th birthday present, but he's afraid to ask.

 

 

 

The sun is starting to sink below the trees when he hits the access road to the lake house. It’s a two-mile dirt road from the main drag to the house and the speakers in the car ping as FRIDAY passes through the seven security checkpoints along the way. Every time he comes, Peter tries to find the sensors hidden in the trees and grass; he’s pretty sure he’s found four of them. It’s kind of fun, like an I Spy poster.

Maybe they’ll go exploring one of these weekends, see if they can find the rest.

 

 

 

Pepper is waiting for him on the front porch.

The car slides to a stop at the end of the dirt road and she waves from the top step. He zips and unzips his backpack a few times to look like he’s busy gathering all his stuff so he has a chance to look at her without seeming creepy. She doesn’t look as tired as she did last month, which is good. She didn’t sleep well for a while, and it reminded Peter of Aunt May those first few months after Uncle Ben died, and it hurt to see her like that. It hurt to be _around_ her like that, and he hated that just as much.

She waves again from the porch, like she knows he’s stalling. He shoulders his backpack, grabs his duffel from the backseat, and opens the door.

“Hey, Mrs. Potts!”

Pepper smiles and rolls her eyes, shaking her head as he slams the car door. “Are we going to do this every month, Peter?”

“Sorry. Pepper.” Peter offers an apologetic smile and Pepper hugs him in return. She keeps her hands on his shoulders when she pulls away and eyes him critically; he tamps down the urge to make sure his hair isn’t sticking up.

“How did the physics test go?” She asks finally.

“Got moved to next week.”

“Do you need to study this weekend?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Peter…”

“I went over my notes in the car, I swear. Plus, y’know, practical physics is kind of my thing.” She raises one eyebrow when he shrugs. “I promise to study on the way back. Really.”

Pepper eyes him again, clearly worried about his studies. “If you’re sure. You don’t have to--”

“Yes. I do.” They’re both startled by the force of his response.

He just… he doesn’t want her to say that he doesn’t have to come. Not again. She’s told him over and over that he doesn’t _have_ to come visit, that she doesn’t want him to ever feel obligated. He doesn’t; that’s not what this is. He just wants to come. If the lake house wasn’t so far, he’d try to make it out here more often. So long as Pepper and Morgan want him there, Peter will be here every month.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll send you a picture with my test grade when I get it back, how’s that? I guarantee a B-plus or better.”

“A-minus and we have a deal.”

Peter holds his hand out to shake and Pepper laughs and takes it. He knows his smile is smug and triumphant, but he made Pepper Potts laugh. That’s a win.

“So, where’s my favorite kid?”

“In her tent,” Pepper point to a spot in the yard on the other side of his car, “getting ready for your weekend. I think she wants to sleep there tonight, if you’re amenable.”

“Yeah, sure, who doesn’t love a campout?”

Pepper smirks: “You’ve never camped a day in your life, have you?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll be fine. Tony made the tent, so it’s not exactly roughing it.”

And everything goes quiet, it’s almost like the birds and the rustling leaves get quieter, too. They talk about him sometimes, but it’s still kind of strange and stilted and sad. He can’t wait until they get past this part, until they can tell stories without feeling gut-punched afterward. He wants to tell Pepper and Morgan that they’ll get there eventually - that he did with Ben - but he also knows that saying so now won’t really help anything.

Pepper clears her throat, breaking the silence, and gestures back toward the house: “In the kitchen, there are things for grilled cheese sandwiches and popcorn and s’mores. She wanted to wait on you for dinner, so she’ll probably want to eat first. I imagine she’s hungry.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me, otherwise I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“Okay.”

Pepper pauses, like she wants to say something else, but then she shakes her head, squeezes Peter’s shoulder once, and then heads for the door.

Peter takes a step forward: “Pepper, ma’am?” She looks at him over her shoulder. “Thanks. Y’know. For letting me come.”

And Pepper doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and goes inside and doesn’t turn around again and Peter curses under his breath because he’s pretty sure he’s made her cry.

 

 

 

( _Where do you disappear to?_ MJ asked a few months ago. _I mean, I assume it’s a hero thing. Do you guys have, like, staff meetings once a month or something?_

_Or something_ , Peter had replied. It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to MJ or Ned, it’s just that his time at the lake house was _his_. It wasn’t anybody else’s business. The only people besides Pepper who knew that he spent time with Morgan every month were Aunt May and Happy and he decided he liked it that way.)

 

 

 

As soon as he starts walking towards Morgan’s tent, his car starts backing down the road slowly away from the house.

Peter jogs after it. “Uh, car? Car, where are you going?”

A little bluetooth speaker on the front porch kicks on: _Mr. Parker_ , FRIDAY says, _scans indicate that the vehicle requires an oil change_.

“Oh. Uh.” Peter waves vaguely at the car. “Do you need me to do… anything?”

_That won’t be necessary. The garage can handle it. Feel free to enjoy your weekend with young Miss Potts-Stark._

“Okay. Thanks, I guess!”

Peter watches his car slowly back down the drive as the garage door on the other side of the house opens on silent gears. The car gets swallowed up and then the door comes back down and Peter’s still marveling at all the ways Mr. Stark automated his life when something slams into his back.

It’s not the weight, but the surprise that drives him to his knees, palms against the grass, and he huffs, trying to catch his breath and not go into _holy shit it’s fight time_ mode, as a little voice laughs in his ear.

“Pete!”

( _He’s never told her to call him that. No one ever called him that except Mr. Stark. Why does she call him that?_ )

“Peeeeeete!” Morgan locks her legs around his waist and hugs her arms around his chest, clinging to his back like a skinny little koala. He takes a deep breath, and then another, trying to steady his heart rate and step away from fight-or-flight mode. Funny, his spider sense doesn’t work on five-year-olds.

“Morgan!” He sing-songs, reaching behind to adjust her position on his back before standing. The little girl giggles again as he goes, setting her chin on his shoulder so she can see better. “Hey, how’s my favorite kid?”

“You don’t know any other kids!”

“I don’t?”

Morgan pauses: “Do you?”

Peter tilts his head to the side and kisses Morgan’s hair. “Nah, Morgan, you’re the coolest kid. Why would I hang out with anybody else?”

Morgan grins.

“You talked to Mommy for a long time.”

“Not too long,” Peter counters. “Were you watching from your tent?” Morgan nods against his back. “She wanted to ask me about my school. Aaaaaand to tell me what we’re having for dinner.”

Morgan slumps against Peter’s back suddenly, her grip gone slack. He’d be worried if she didn’t do this a lot, dramatically dropping where she stands. He learned after his first visit to always keep a good grip on her just in case. “I’m starving.”

“Well, that’s why we’re going to the kitchen right now.”

He leans down just enough to grab the strap on his backpack with one hand, but he doesn’t want to let go of Morgan so he kicks his duffel bag up the porch steps and into the house.

 

 

 

(His first visit was about two months after the funeral.

He was having trouble adjusting. The whole world was, really, but between going back to school and patrolling and the nightmares… nothing felt _real_ and, when it did, it felt _inconsequential_. It was hard to get excited about stopping a bodega robbery after going to space and fighting a giant purple titan.

And then Pepper called.

_I’ve been talking to your aunt_ , she said, and Peter couldn’t say he was terribly surprised by that. _I was wondering how you would feel about coming out for a visit. I thought maybe some time away from the city might do you some good; it’s quiet out here, and Morgan and I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. If you disagree, or you think it would be too hard, that’s fine. I just worry about you, Peter. I don’t want you to think you’re alone out there now_.

May had already packed him an overnight bag, and the next day after school the car came to pick him up. They took a walk around the lake and Morgan taught him how to play Fun Checkers - a variation that lets you move any piece anywhere you want on the board and didn’t seem to have a clear winner - and after the kid went to bed, Peter and Pepper sat on the porch and stared at the water and didn’t say anything at all.

It was the calmest Peter had felt in weeks. Or years, technically.)

 

 

 

In the kitchen, there is a whiteboard calendar on the fridge door, marked with special days and important school notes like “100 Day” and “Superhero Day” and “parent teacher conferences.” The boxes for the last week have a large number in each of them, counting down, leading to Friday, which has “PETER VISITS” written in red marker. The handwriting is clearly Pepper’s but the crooked smiley face in the Saturday box next to it is obviously Morgan’s doing. That’s nice. That’s really… he’s fine. This is fine.

He drops his backpack on the table and then bounces Morgan on his back: “Okay, Baby Stark, chair or counter?”

“Counter, please.”

Peter turns around, stands on his tip toes, and Morgan slides from his back to sit on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“How does grilled cheese sound?” Morgan makes a chomping noise, which he takes for approval, and starts gathering the ingredients that Pepper left out for him. He’s grateful that she remembered his limited cooking skills. Popcorn and s’mores after dinner should be a breeze.

He hums as he works, laying out the bread and butter and cheese. Morgan reaches across the counter and pokes his cheek.

“What is that?”

“What is what?”

“The song.” She hums it back to him and he laughs. He hadn’t even realized what he was humming.

“It’s called Baby Shark. I called you Baby Stark and then you chomped at my fingers and I guess it got stuck in my head.” Peter tosses the first sandwich on the griddle and starts to sing. “Baby Stark doot doot do do do do, baby Stark doot doot do do do do--”

“Is that an old song?”

“It was just a thing--” _last year, no_ \-- “uh, before you were born. So kinda old now. I guess.”

Morgan nods thoughtfully, and Peter’s not sure if she’s really paying attention or she’s thinking about how weird he is, but she finally says, “My last name isn’t Stark. It’s Potts-Stark. Potts like Mommy, Stark like Daddy.”

“You got it, kid. I won’t forget again.”

 

 

 

(Peter didn’t even know Mr. Stark had a kid until he and Aunt May arrived for the funeral and there’s a little girl sitting on Pepper’s hip. She was so small and her shoes were so shiny and she looked so confused and, _God_ , Peter remembers what that’s like. He was younger than Morgan when his parents died, and older when Ben died, but he’s sure the important parts are the same.

Everything is different now, so different you can’t even comprehend what life is going to be like.

He almost walked away right then and there, but May grabbed his hand.

He just stared at Morgan all day.)

 

 

 

Peter changes into his pajamas in the downstairs bathroom while Morgan mixes their chocolate milk in large thermoses he found in one of the cabinets. They’re pajamas Ned found for him last year - _no, five years ago_ \- with pictures of the Avengers across the chest. It was a joke then; it feels kind of weird now. He thinks Morgan might get a kick out of them, which is the only reason he brought them.

Morgan carries their drinks down to the tent, and he follows behind with their sandwiches. She tells him he can sit in the chair and she will sit on the little log beside the firepit. It’s not lit yet - Peter doesn’t want to deal with a kid and fire until it’s time for s’mores - but he tosses out a vague, “Hey, FRIDAY?” and the front porch’s floodlights come on so they can see their food. Morgan tucks her legs underneath her and immediately starts munching on her sandwich, giggling madly when she pulls it away from her mouth and strings of melted cheese trail between them.

Peter takes a bite of his own sandwich and smiles. He can’t make much in the kitchen, but he does make a mean grilled cheese.

“So how’s kindergarten?”

“Boring,” Morgan shrugs.  
  
“Boring how?” Peter’s memories of kindergarten aren’t super clear, but he figures it’s probably a lot of storytime and fingerpainting and learning your numbers and letters and stuff.

“No tools.” Morgan balances her sandwich on her knees and picks up the thermos of chocolate milk with both hands. Peter’s watching her so intently, to see if she’ll spill it, that it takes him a second to process what she said.

“No… tools?”

Morgan sighs, and it’s such a Tony reaction - _come on, Pete, keep up_ \- that it rocks him for a minute. “Miss Daisy says it’s craft time and we are gonna make stuff but it’s just paper and glue and glitter.” Morgan mimes turning a socket wrench: “No tools. We don’t make good stuff, just boring stuff.”

Peter huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You are just like your dad,” he says, then freezes.

Sometimes Morgan wants to talk about Tony and sometimes she goes silent and sulks, and Peter doesn’t blame her because sometimes that’s how he feels when people bring up Tony to him, too. But he only just got here; he doesn’t want to ruin their weekend already.

But Morgan just nods once and says, “Mommy says that all the time.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

The sun sinks lower and FRIDAY dims the lights so they can look at the stars. Peter grabs a blanket from the tent and spreads it out on the grass so they can lie down and see things properly. Morgan likes to make up constellations and name them after elements on the periodic table, so they do that for a while. Some of them are kind of accurate, if you squint, and Peter thinks maybe he’ll get her some of those plastic glow-in-the-dark stars to put on the ceiling of her bedroom for her birthday in a few months. He’s sure Mr. Stark could have figured out a way to put actual stars in his daughter’s bedroom.

But this is what Peter can do, so he’ll do it.

Morgan wriggles around until she’s curled up against his side, hugging his arm. She yawns and tries to hide it in his sleeve when he pokes her.

“Hey, you getting tired?”

“No.” She yawns again.

“Wanna get in the tent?”

“S’mores,” she whines. “We didn’t do s’mores.”

“We can do them tomorrow,” Peter promises. He squeezes her hand. “Hey, why don’t we get in the tent and message your mom for a goodnight and maybe I can tell you a bedtime story? Do you… do you like bedtime stories?”

“I’m not a baby, Pete.”

“Fair enough.”

It takes him a few more minutes - a few more constellation names - before he can coax her into the tent. Pepper was right: for all that it looks ramshackle and hastily constructed on the outside, the inside of the tent is warm and dry and has a comfortable but firm floor that he won’t mind sleeping on. Morgan is half-asleep already, drowsy and content when he pulls out his phone and FaceTimes Pepper so they can say goodnight. Peter’s not really tired yet, but he lies down next to Morgan and pretends like he is because he knows she won’t fall asleep without him.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes are closed, but she reaches out blindly and pats him on the chest.

“You have Daddy on your shirt.”

“I… do, yeah. Is that weird?”

“I like it.”

“Oh. Good. Me too.”

“Can I have a shirt like that?”

There is merchandise for all of the Avengers nowadays - Peter’s had to stop Ned and MJ from buying Spider-Man stuff more than once - but it suddenly occurs to Peter that he’s never seen any of it in the house: not a shirt, or a shoelace, or a folder for school. “I’ll talk to your mom about it, okay?”

Morgan falls asleep with her hand on his chest, finger tapping against the spot where an arc reactor would sit if he had one, and he lays there for almost an hour to make sure she’s really out before he gets up and out of the tent. He texts Pepper to let her know Morgan’s asleep and he’s going to clean up from dinner and then go to sleep, too, then gathers their plates and thermoses and sneaks back into the house. Pepper’s told him half a dozen times he doesn’t need to wash the dishes, but he doesn’t mind. His brain is too busy anyways. He loves coming out here, loves hanging out with Morgan, but it still feels like a minefield sometimes.

There are some dishes left from lunch in the sink, and he washes those, too. He can hear Pepper upstairs getting ready for bed, but she doesn’t come down. He dries the plates and puts them back in the cabinet with the thermoses, then grabs a coffee mug and sets it back on the shelf.

His knuckles brush up against the picture frame, he and Mr. Stark with that fake Stark Internship certificate he made after school one day. Peter doesn’t know why the photo is there, or how long it’s been there, or---

He puts the picture frame back, turns off the lights, and goes back out to the tent. He faceplants onto the mattress-like floor and Morgan instinctively rolls over to snuggle against his side.

Peter doesn’t fall asleep for another two hours.

 

 

 

(A couple visits in, Pepper asked whether Peter minded if she went away for the weekend. Morgan was comfortable with him at this point, and Pepper trusted him, and they had FRIDAY and the rest of the house’s overboard security system to look after them.

Pepper hadn’t had any time to herself in months.

_Of course_ , Peter said. _Yeah, go, we’ll be fine_.

But Morgan wasn’t. She cried for hours, inconsolable when she realized Pepper wouldn’t be there to tuck her in that night. They texted and called and FaceTimed and it wasn’t enough, Morgan couldn’t be comforted. When the little girl started wailing about being alone and Daddy leaving, Peter heard the Rescue suit punch a hole in the garage roof and Pepper was on the porch ten minutes later.

Morgan slept in Pepper’s bed that night. Peter apologized over and over, despite Pepper’s assurances that it wasn’t his fault.

_We can try again when she’s older._ )

 

 

 

Morgan wakes up first, not long after dawn, and squirms around so much on the floor of the tent that she wakes Peter up, too. He pretends to be asleep for a while, just to see what she’ll do, but she’s just generally restless, moving around the tent and looking outside and then stealing his phone from where he left it in his shoe and trying to guess his passcode.

“If you make it delete all my pictures, I’ll be pissed,” he mumbles, and Morgan doesn’t seem terribly surprised to find him suddenly awake.

“There’s a trick.”

“To guessing it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know it yet, but there’s a trick. Can I have a hint?”

Morgan won’t be able to get into much trouble with his phone; she’d probably just beat that Candy Crush level that’s been giving him trouble. “S’my aunt’s birthday.”

Morgan huffs. “I don’t know your aunt.”

Peter plucks the phone out of her hand and pockets it, shoving his feet back into his shoes. “Well, then I guess it’s safe,” he teases, and when Morgan starts to pout, he just picks her up and throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, out of the tent and back towards the house.

The morning is cool and the air smells fresh and the sun rising over the lake is gorgeous and serene and Peter pauses for a moment, taking it all in. He breathes deep and closes his eyes and he tries to hold tight to this feeling, this sense of peace; he wants to remember the world just like this when he’s back in the city and things start to feel overwhelming again.

“Pete?”

He tickles the bottom of Morgan’s feet: “Yeah, I know: you’re hungry. C’mon.”

Pepper’s already up, apparently, though she’s not downstairs when they come inside. There are pancakes waiting in the kitchen, though, blueberry ones in the oven warmer and a glass bottle of pure Vermont maple syrup sitting on the counter. Morgan begs to be let down so she can pour them both glasses of milk, insistent that she can do it on her own, while Peter gets them plates and utensils. He’s grateful Pepper already cooked for them; a hot breakfast would be stretching his limited skills and he’s pretty sure Morgan wouldn’t have appreciated another grilled cheese sandwich.

“So what do you want to do today?” He asks, watching her pour an ungodly amount of syrup on her plate. The pancakes are practically drowning.

“Let’s go see your car.”

“Why?”

“Because I like them. And we should make sure DUM-E fixed it. The garage said it might need to be fixed the next time you visited and then you came and it wasn’t in the yard so the garage was right.”

Peter… _thinks_ he understood that. “Yeah, sure, kiddo, we can go look at my car.”

 

 

 

( _What do you mean you don’t know how to drive a car?_

_I live in Queens, why would I need to? Besides, I’m only just old enough to get my permit._

_Jesus, kid, stop making me feel old._ )

 

 

 

From the outside, the garage looks like a weathered old barn. Whoever did the repairs on the roof a few months back did a decent job of matching the tiles, but Peter can still tell where the Rescue suit punched through. It’s painted an old, rusty red, with big crossbeam doors at either end, and it looks large enough to hold at least four cars.

Peter can’t see a way in, besides the door that opened to admit his car, but when they get right up next to it, Morgan stands on her tip toes and taps a knot in the wood and a handprint-sized piece of wood veneer slides out of sight to display a black panel. Morgan presses her index finger to it, but the panel glows orange and nothing happens.

Morgan sighs, then kneels down in the grass and pries off another panel of wood, displaying a mass of wires and a numbered keypad.

“What’cha doing?”

“Opening the door,” Morgan says, with the kind of nonchalance kids only have when they’re doing something they probably shouldn’t and they don’t want to draw attention to it.

Peter knows this tone. He uses it a lot.

"Are we supposed to go in there?"

Morgan shrugs. "Daddy used to say no."

"But you did it anyway?"

Morgan twists two wires, squeezing them together with her little fingers, and then types in a sequence on the keypad; when she hits the last number, she lets go of the wires as they spark for just a moment, but then the handprint pad glows blue and a hidden door pops open right in front of Peter.

She stands and grins triumphantly, brushing dirt from the knees of her leggings. "He could have stopped me if he wanted to,” Morgan says confidently, then closes the two access panels and rushes inside.

Peter sighs. She's not wrong. Besides, Peter thinks Mr. Stark probably got a kick out of this, out of his kid being so excited about tech that she learned how to break into the garage. If there was ever any doubt that Morgan was Tony Stark's child, this would dispel it.

Still, there are very clearly safeguards in place to keep Morgan out, even if she’s figured out a way around them, and the last thing Peter wants is for Morgan to get hurt, or for them to get in trouble. He doesn’t want Pepper to stop trusting him, to stop letting him come. He bounces on his toes right outside the door for a moment, unsure of what to do, but he hears things tinkering inside the garage and figures he might as well keep an eye on Morgan.

"Okay, look,” he says, ducking inside and jumping a little when the door automatically closes behind him, “we can stay this time, but there was a reason he didn’t want you in here alone, right? It could be dangerous. Maybe you should have a grown-up in here with you when you visit."

Morgan blinks at him behind a pair of overly large safety glasses from her perch on top of a stepstool, right next to his car. "Are you a grown-up, Pete?"

_He's an Avenger and a superhero and he died and he fought a titan but--_ "Uh, no. Not really. But I won't tell. Just this once, okay?"

Morgan smiles, like she knows she’s won, and then pops the hood on his car. Peter’s pretty sure he just got played.

For all the rustic charm that the garage displays on the outside, the inside is about what Peter expected: sleek and well-lit and overflowing with technology. There are two other robots besides DUM-E, half a dozen computer monitors mounted to the walls, and some projectors in the corners he’s pretty sure can be used for holograms. Along one of the long, non-doored walls are several suits of armor, each in their own sealed container; some are fully assembled and others were clearly in the process of being built. The only one that’s lit up is Pepper’s blue and gold Rescue suit; the rest are dark and Peter has to press his face against the glass to see the familiar red and gold. Along the opposite wall is a long, traditional workbench with drawers on top, full of every kind of tool and fasteners you can think of. When Peter steps around the car, he can see a smaller, child-sized workbench alongside it; its top is messy where the other is immaculate, covered in loose wrenches and screwdrivers and a handful of nails.

Perfectly Morgan-sized, clearly well-used.

He glances back at her, leaning over the open hood of his car and peering down into the engine block. DUM-E is holding up a tablet for her, where an exploded view of the inside of the car is animating. She’s mindful not to touch anything, but he can tell by the way her hands flex that she’s itching to take it apart.

“I have to go back tomorrow,” he says. “Don’t destroy the car.”

“You could just come to school with me.”

“Hey, maybe I can go make paper and glitter stuff with Miss Daisy and you can go take my test for me.”

“What’s the test?”

“Physics.”

Morgan wrinkles her nose: “I don’t think I know physics yet.”

“Well, see, then you gotta leave my car alone so I can go back and take my test.”

“I can learn physics.”

Peter smiles: “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” He reaches down and grabs something from her workbench. “What was this?”

“The firing mechanism on a potato gun. One of Daddy’s friends gave it to me for my birthday.” Peter looks down at the bench again and sees a number of other similarly colored parts.

“Can you put it back together?”

Morgan eyes it thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes,” she says definitively, then turns back to the car.

He watches her tinker for a long while, learning all of the parts of the engine from DUM-E, and he entertains himself by opening drawers and poking around the workbench. Morgan doesn’t seem to mind. After a while she closes the hood and pats the car gently, then hops off the stepstool and drags Peter over to her bench and names every single wrench for him and then makes him repeat them back. Morning stretches into afternoon, and Peter’s grateful they ate their weight in pancakes because Morgan doesn’t seem like she’s ready to leave yet and lunchtime has come and gone. When she tires of teaching him about tools, she darts over to the armor wall and digs around for a while before coming up with a Spider-Man hood.

“This is yours, right?”

“Uh.” He’s never talked to her about Spider-Man, and he’s not sure what Pepper’s said.

Morgan frowns at him: “I know you worked with Daddy.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“So this belongs to you?”

“Not that one specifically but--” It looks a lot like his Iron Spider hood, but the veining is silver rather than gold. Silver like the car. Shit.

“Can I try it on? Mommy says I have to ask permission now. She doesn’t like it when I wear her helmet.”

Peter kneels down and takes the hood from her. It’s even lighter than the one he wears now, which he didn’t think was possible, and he stretches it a few times to test the strength of the fabric. Morgan waits patiently while he looks it over, then he bunches it up and motions for her to hold still. He pulls it down over her head and adjusts it so she can see; it’s a little big on her, so the eye holes don’t line up quite right, but he can hear her smile when she whispers, “Wow.”

“Can you show me how you…” And then Morgan holds out her hands and makes a weird noise and he can only assume she’s talking about his webshooters.

“They’re not in the hood.”

“But you brought them, right?”

They’re in his backpack, with the rest of his suit, but: “Nooooope. Nu-huh, little miss. Not happening.”

“Please, Pete?”

“I will let you break into a garage but I’m not going to risk your mom being mad at me.”

“Can we ask her?”

Peter tries to imagine how that conversation will go: either Pepper’s not going to care or she’s going to think he’s a complete numbskull for asking. There’s no middle ground here. “I will ask her. Later. _Maybe_ next visit. We’ll see.”

Morgan pulls the hood off, and her hair is sticking up so he tucks it back behind her ear. “I’m sad now,” she says, clearly trying to manipulate him. “You know what would make me less sad?”

“Playing with my car some more?”

“No. S’mores.”

Peter tips backward, leaning against the wheel, and laughs. Morgan throws the Spider-Man hood at his face, glowering like she thinks he’s laughing at her, and so he throws it right back. “S’mores it is.”

 

 

 

(He had a nightmare once, sleeping on the floor of Morgan’s bedroom. He woke up screaming, his legs tangled in the blankets, with Pepper leaning over him and Morgan watching wide-eyed from her bed. He couldn’t catch his breath and his hair was matted with sweat and he was so scared from the dream and scared that he had frightened Morgan and he started to cry.

Pepper dragged him up off the ground and made him sit on the edge of the bed and put his head between his knees, and Morgan rubbed little circles on his back until he could breathe again.

_I’m sorry_ , he whispered. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_.

Pepper ran her hands through his hair and he wanted to pull away, embarrassed, but it felt so much like Aunt May that he couldn’t help but lean in.

_Mommy, Pete needs juice pops_. It was the middle of winter, and they didn’t have any in the freezer, but Morgan refused to go back to sleep until Peter had a treat of some kind.

Pepper made them s’mores in the toaster oven, and Morgan made him share her tiny twin bed.)

 

 

 

It’s late in the afternoon, and still kind of too warm and too early for the firepit, but Peter promised her s’mores last night so s’mores they will have. He wipes the sweat from his forehead as Morgan bounds down the porch steps, arms laden with marshmallows and chocolate bars and graham crackers. Pepper follows behind her with the skewers. He assumed she might grab some hot dogs or something, too, but it looks like they’re just having s’mores for dinner. He’s not complaining.

Morgan dumps the s’more ingredients at his feet and says, “I got Mommy. She likes s’mores, too. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, baby shark. Your mom can always hang out with us.”

Pepper’s close enough to hear him now, and she mouths _thank you_ over Morgan’s head before the little girl turns on her heel and grins up at her mother.

“Mommy, is Pete big enough to cook his own marshmallows on the big fire?”

Pepper taps a manicured nail against her chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I’m not sure. How big did we say you had to be?”

“Big enough to beat Grandpa Steve at Kings in the Corner.” Morgan frowns. “Pete, have _you_ beat Grandpa Steve at Kings in the Corner? It’s very, very hard.”

“I have no clue what you just asked me.”

Pepper smirks: “Okay, looks like I’m the only one cooking marshmallows today then.”

“No, seriously: have I beat who at what?”

But neither Potts-Stark woman answers him, they just get down to business opening the big bag of jumbo-sized marshmallows and poking them onto the skewers. They’re remarkably simple, the kind of thing you’d buy for maybe ten bucks at Target, and they feel almost charmingly mundane at this house. Peter kind of figured that Mr. Stark had built a whole marshmallow toasting contraption to set up near the firepit, but not so much.

“Grandpa Steve brought us these last time,” Morgan explains when she sees Peter staring. “He said it was sacrilege that we made s’mores in the toaster oven. I don’t know what ‘sacrilege’ means.”

“Who’s Grandpa Steve?”

“A story for another time, Peter,” Pepper dismisses, and Peter lets it drop because Morgan decides she really, really needs his help stacking up marshmallows into a tall but clearly unstable tower on the seat of the chair by the tent. When the first marshmallow Pepper toasts is suitably browned, she calls Morgan back over and Peter helps her assemble the rest of the s’more. Their hands are sticky and the heat is stifling and the air tastes like smoke and sugar and Peter can’t help but smile back when Morgan gives him a chocolately grin.

“Momma,” Morgan speaks around a mouthful of s’more as Pepper hands Peter the next marshmallow, “Pete is gonna let me play with his spiderweb shooty things next time he visits.”

“Whoa! Uh, no! I didn’t say that!” He looks at Pepper in a panic. “I did not say that. I said I would ask you.”

“I just did,” Morgan says.

“No, you didn’t! That was not a question, Morgan!” Morgan sticks out her tongue and shrugs. “Stop trying to get me into trouble.”

Pepper - thankfully - laughs as she hands him a chocolate bar. “No one is in trouble; not yet, anyway. However,” she turns to Morgan, “webshooters aren’t toys, baby. They’re not something you play with. They’re tools.”

“I’m good with tools.” _Well_ , Peter thinks, _she’s got them there_.

“Do I let you play with my gloves?” Pepper asks. Morgan shakes her head. “How about my boots, are you allowed to put those on?” Pepper’s calm and straightforward and doesn’t seem fazed by this conversation at all, and it makes Peter wonder how often Morgan wants to play with dangerous, superhero technology.

“No.”

“Why aren’t you allowed?”

“Because I’m not strong enough to control them and you don’t want me to get hurt.” Morgan looks at Peter and points at his wrists with a sticky finger. “Are your spiderweb things hard to control?”

Peter nods. Morgan gets quiet for a moment, then asks, “Mommy, can I suggest a com-pro-mise?” Pepper nods. “Can Pete show me how they work next time? I won’t touch them til I’m bigger, but I want to see them.”

Pepper looks at Peter and nods subtly - _I’m okay with that_ \- before asking, “Is that a good compromise, Peter?”

And, honestly, part of him wants to say no. Part of him loves how utterly separate these weekends are from the rest of his life. Like, yeah, he’s at Mr. Stark’s house, with Mr. Stark’s family, and sometimes they talk about him, but he’s never Spider-Man here and they don’t ask him to rehash battles or tell stories. The only time he’s used his powers here was the time Morgan almost fell out of a tree and he caught her just before she hit the ground, and he likes it that way.

But it was nice, this afternoon, watching Morgan in the garage. He liked seeing her learning and getting excited about this stuff. Plus, he figured out the webshooters himself; Mr. Stark might have helped with the upgrade, but the original design is all him. It might be kind of cool to show Morgan something he made all on his own.

“Next time I visit, I’ll bring my old pair and we can take them apart, but I’m the only one who shoots them, okay?”

Morgan hugs him and leaves a sticky kiss on his cheek and Pepper smiles as the sun starts to set behind them.

 

 

  
  
(One time, Morgan wanted to play the board game Operation, but she got bored about halfway through and decided to just take it apart instead. To be honest, Peter had done the same thing when he was Morgan’s age and he got a kick out of seeing it all disassembled on the floor of her bedroom again.

Until he looked up and found Pepper watching them in the doorway.

She waved away his apology before he could even say it and just kept watching them sort pieces with a strange smile on her face.

_What?_ Peter asked.

Pepper shook her head. _He would have loved this_.)

 

 

 

Pepper does insist they eat something besides s’mores before bed, so Morgan goes inside with her and comes back out alone with a bowl of baby carrots and apple slices. They eat them while they catch fireflies and Morgan asks him questions about high school. She wrestles a promise out of him to start teaching her physics next time he visits - “Yeah, sure, webshooters and physics, whatever you want” - and then brings him a tiny firefly on the end of her pinky and very gently coaxes it onto his palm.

“I don’t see these much at home,” Peter admits, watching the little bug crawl around on his hand.

“Then we have to do this next time, too.”

Morgan eventually wears herself out running around the yard catching fireflies and when she starts nodding off in his lap he kicks the lid over the firepit to smother the flames and carries her into the tent. He’s still in his jeans, but he’d rather just sleep in them tonight than go back inside to change.

“Pete?”

“Yeah? What’cha need?”

“I love you one thousand.”

“Cool. Is that a lot?”

“Mmmhmm. But not as much as Mommy and Daddy.”

“I’ll take it. I love you one thousand, too.”

 

 

 

(He went that first time. And then Pepper called the next month and invited him again. And then Morgan FaceTimed him in the middle of Academic Decathlon practice to invite him the third time.

And then it was a few days before the first weekend of the month and he hadn’t heard anything and he wasn’t sure what to do.

_Call_ , Aunt May said. He didn’t want to impose. Things were better than they had been lately, and if Pepper only invited him because he’d been having trouble, well, that was sort of fixed. He said as much to May, and she rolled her eyes and shoved the phone into his hands.

_I - sorry - hi, Mrs. Potts, I uh, well, I wasn’t sure if -- I mean, it’s almost the weekend and I was just wondering - if you guys have plans or something, I don’t want to -- what I mean is--_

_Peter_ , she said. _You can come over whenever you want._ )

 

 

 

Pepper insists that Peter leave after breakfast, to make sure that he has plenty of time to study for his test. He tries to argue with her a little over oatmeal - surely the drive back will give him plenty of studying time - but Pepper used to keep Tony Stark in line, so Peter Parker isn’t much trouble.

Morgan isn’t wild about him leaving so soon either. She sits on his lap during breakfast and snuggles close, pouting at her mother and trying to act pitiful enough that she changes her mind. He gets Morgan to feed him bacon and she giggles when he pretends to chomp on her fingers. “Like baby shark!” she says, remembering dinner on Friday night, and he teaches her the rest of the song, along with the hand motions that go with it.

Pepper groans from the stovetop. “Is this my punishment?” She asks. Peter and Morgan nod from the dinner table, but she doesn’t seem too upset about it.

Morgan helps him gather up his stuff and shove it all back into his duffel bag. He pretends not to notice when she pours some loose marshmallows, leftover from the s’mores, in his backpack. It’s sweet, if a little gross, but at least he’ll have a snack on the ride back. She hands him his pajama shirt and suggests that he wear that on the way home and Peter doesn’t feel like he can say no, but it’s weird wearing a shirt with Iron Man on it in front of Pepper so he pulls his jacket on over top and hopes Morgan doesn’t say anything.

The car - his car - is waiting in the front yard, just outside of the garage, when they go outside, and when he mumbles a thanks to FRIDAY, the engine remote-starts. He tosses his backpack and his duffel into the back seat, puts his physics notebook and textbook on the passenger seat so Pepper can see, and then goes back to the porch to say goodbye.

He kneels down in front of Morgan and holds out his arms; she crosses hers across her chest and narrows her eyes at him. “You promised spiderwebs and physics next time,” she says, “don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Promise.”

“I promise to bring my webshooters and to teach you physics the next time I come visit.” Peter draws an x on his chest with his index finger. “Cross my heart.” Morgan nods, satisfied, and steps closer, but Peter holds out his own warning hand. “And you promised me fireflies again.”

“I promise.”

“Okay then.” Morgan launches herself at him and he barely manages to catch himself before they’re knocked over. She hugs him for a little too long, skinny arms tight around his neck, and when she pulls away she unzips his jacket a little so she can see Iron Man and Thor on his shirt. She taps Iron Man’s helmet twice, then smiles at Peter shyly and says, “Bye, Pete.”

“Bye, Morgan.”

Pepper helps him to his feet and walks him down to the car.

“Text me when you get home safe.”

“Yes ma’am.” Peter nods toward the car and lowers his voice. “You know she breaks into the garage, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure.” He takes a deep breath, looking out over the lake again for a moment, then squares his shoulders and opens the drivers side door. “Um, thanks again for letting me come out here.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Pepper says.

“I mean, yeah, I do. May’d kill me if I didn’t,” he laughs. “But I really- I really do appreciate it.”

Pepper leans forward and kisses his forehead, then pushes him gently toward the car. “We’ll see you next month, Peter. Don’t forget you promised me an A-minus on that test.”

“You got it, Mrs. Potts.”

Peter slides into the drivers seat and shuts the door. As soon as he puts his seatbelt on, the car starts backing down the driveway, and Morgan waves at him wildly from the front porch, then bolts down the steps and chases after him for a little while as he gets further and further away. He’s not sure if she can see him through the front windshield or not, but he waves back until they turn a corner through the trees and he can’t see the house anymore.

Peter leans back and closes his eyes for a minute, takes a deep breath, and then reaches for his physics notes.


End file.
